


heaven is a ghost town when you're already here

by kingslayer (amurgin)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/kingslayer
Summary: “Tell me, angel, I insist. Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?""Mhm."Linhardt purrs thoughtfully. His hands get lost measuring the expanse of Sylvain's back, the prospect of the ease with which he could engulf him."Not nearly as much as having to hear that pathetic excuse of a pickup line. I must say, Gautier, you're lucky you're cute."One of his hands strays down over his shoulder, slipping along his chest, over his pectoral, stomach, and resting, at long last, on the thick bulge tenting his pants."And that you've got a big cock, of course."
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	heaven is a ghost town when you're already here

_ “Are you done yet? I wanna see.” _ Sylvain chimes in for what must be the sixteenth time, and, as he speaks, Linhardt fastens another belt around his body. The leather sits comfortably snug, tight enough to leave an imprint, some kind of mark of ownership, yet not too tight. It would be impractical were his legs or arms to go numb in the middle of _ things_, though he supposes that could be a thrill in and of itself. He considers asking Sylvain his opinion on this latest theory, but ultimately decides against it. It would be best not to let him get carried away any more than he already has. 

The paper screen that obscures him trembles, breathes a sigh of panic when Linhardt notices, from the corner of the mirror, Sylvain’s fingers peering over the edge of it. 

_ “Don’t you dare forget your place.“ _A snap, a click. The slap of nylon against his skin. The sound of Sylvain deflating back into his place, fingers retreating to where he can fiddle with them impatiently. It’s coming together, albeit a little too slowly for Linhardt’s liking. But he’s done now. 

One step back and he’s admiring, watching his reflection twirl, calves stretching when he stands on the tips of his toes, elongating his already slender body to interminable lengths. Linhardt follows himself from over the shoulder, tracing the elastic that dips into the soft flesh of his thighs, where the lace band of the stockings stretches over him. There is also the bite of the leather upon his skin, the one he curated himself, knowingly catering to Sylvain’s tastes. His lover has an eye for the avant-garde, as it were, but Linhardt can’t complain. The outfit flatters him, eliciting a flush to his cheeks that diffuses all the way down his neck, like a field of peonies blooming, petals opening.

_ “Need help?” _

_ “No.” _Linhardt says, stepping out from his place of hiding. At the drop of a pin, he can tell the exact moment when Sylvain’s face falls flat to the ground. His eyelids rise to their full potential, irises poring over him from head to toe in a fluid movement that leaves not one part of his body disgraced by the absence of his stare. His pagan worship. 

Delicate, white lace hugs his hipbones, panties pulled taut over the growing erection Sylvain milks out of him with his eyes. A number of belts, just as pristine in colour, traverse the expanse of his body, from one peak to another, emphasizing that beautiful rawness of his body, flesh and bone and all. One runs along his waist in a circle, one around his hip, another just below his supple breasts. There isn’t enough to fill the bra, but given Sylvain’s horny foresight, it’s a small enough size that the illusion of completeness is not lost on them. The sheer fabric of the cups is speckled all over with stars embroidered in a shimmery metallic colour, an entire sky filled with them, though not enough to hide the perkiness of his nipples, hardened by the coarse feel of the fibers.

Traversing upward is a contraption made up of a number of different belts branching all over his upper body like vines growing uncontrollably. They cross over his shoulders at multiple points, a dyad of which is adorned by a ruffled trim of shimmery organza that gives him the resemblance of an angel. That same train of ruffles also runs round his waist, giving him wings where there should be none. Lastly, there are the garters that keep his thigh-highs from slipping off of him, a last touch which ties the ensemble together perfectly. Innocence and eroticism, though it’s hard to tell which comes first.

Because Linhardt is angelface and the stuff of the Goddess. He is the gift of the spirit, waiting to be opened up by frantic fingers, tugging his ribbon loose, undressing him one piece at a time until nothing but the infinity of the cosmos remains laid bare upon the mortal body. 

_ “Wow.” _ Sylvain mumbles at long last, once his fish mouth has stopped opening and closing uselessly, wordlessly. _ “Lin, you look stunning.” _

_ “I do?” _The response draws them together, Linhardt stepping his way coyly. A most natural sway settles in his hips, and with each stride, they fan from side to side, ruffle wings shaking, the mirage of life being imbued within them. He is temptation dressed in lingerie, throwing his arms around Sylvain’s neck, lassoing him in one teasing touch at a time. His voice, too, is honeysuckle, honeyglazed, leaking of fat drops of nectar. And Sylvain drinks him up as if he was witnessing the Goddess in the desert, as if it was she tipping the amphora over.

_ "Yeah.” _ Sylvain is breathing, heaving, panting already. His eyes gloss over the features of Linhardt’s face, that angelic beauty he’d never been in want of. Reaching with a tenderness they’ve both known him to reserve for Linhardt, alone, he sweeps a lock of hair off his face, slipping it over his ear. _ “Tell me, angel, I insist. Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?" _

_ "Mhm." _ Linhardt purrs thoughtfully. His hands get lost measuring the expanse of Sylvain's back, the prospect of the ease with which he could engulf him. _ "Not nearly as much as having to hear that pathetic excuse of a pickup line. I must say, Gautier, you're lucky you're cute." _ One of his hands strays down over his shoulder, slipping along his chest, over his pectoral, his stomach, and resting, at long last, on the thick bulge tenting his pants. _ "And that you've got a big cock, of course." _

_ “Of course.” _ He parrots with a chuckle, his own hands encroaching on Linhardt’s lower back. Pulling him flush against his body, Sylvain places a small kiss to his forehead. _ “What would you do without my big cock?” _

_ “Die.” _No hesitation. Linhardt doesn’t even blink, exhaling his answer like it’s a universally acknowledged truth. 

_ “Careful, you’re gonna make me think that’s all you keep me around for. There have to be other things you like about me.” _ He can’t mask the dread that accompanies the joke he’s trying to make, once he realizes how close it's inching to his insecurities. _ “R-Right?” _

Linhardt doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he scrunches his face up, brows furrowing in thought, eyes narrowing as if just that were enough to help him see things more clearly. A fraction of a second later and he hasn't made a sound. 

_ “Hey, hey, Linhardt. You’re making me a little nervous.” _

But there's nothing to fear.

_ “I like how broad your back is, that when we lay down and you spoon me, it feels like that is where I was always supposed to be. The same applies to your hands. When you hold mine, it makes me think that things were always meant to turn out this way, with you by my side.” _ His eyes fall to the ground as he continues on, dancing carefully, but freely, on the grounds closest to Sylvain’s heart. _ “I like your laugh, and that you let me listen to it. And I like that you trust me enough to let me stay by your side. Sometimes, your eyes gleam when you look at me, and you’re always so warm. It's much appreciated, especially during wintertime.” _Linhardt trails off. There is much more that could be said, so much more, but they have to start someplace. When he comes to, it is because Sylvain’s warm, warm hands are upon his cheeks, and Linhardt allows him to tilt his head backwards until their eyes can meet, until he can see the all-too-familiar gleam of those amber eyes. 

_ “You know I love you, don’t you?” _ Sylvain whispers in a hushed breath, so small it expires in an instant. So, he repeats himself, out of a fear that Linhardt combs out of him with the fingers that weave through his hair. _ “Lin, I love you.” _

_ “I know, and I love you, too.” _It is reassurance on his lips when Linhardt stretches himself to kiss him, all chastity and innocence. All adoration without a shred of doubt. 

Sylvain deepens the union of their mouths, treading over the border with his tongue, flowing freely into Linhardt until they become indistinguishable as a couple, visible only as one. They are in love, even without needing it to be said. They are in love and this is their proof of it. Linhardt surrenders to him entirely, letting Sylvain dip him down, leaning back over his arm. He melts into the kiss, falters, and, suddenly, Sylvain is carrying him in his arms, walking him over to the bed in half the time it would usually take him. Then, he’s throwing him down, angel wings and all, like he’s ripped Linhardt out of the Sistine Chapel with his bare hands. May Michelangelo’s bones quiver in his tomb. 

He lands onto the mattress with a gasp, without enough time to catch a glance at Sylvain pulling his shirt off over his head in one movement, forgetting it somewhere on the floor below. Bending down, he crawls over Linhardt, painting him in shadows from where the width of his body, all muscle, all firm, swallows the light that pours over them. 

_ “Is there something special you’d like to see today?” _ Sylvain’s breath is harsh on his face, hot and needy. He ducks his head to where he can serenade love along his collarbones, into those few precious glimpses of skin and bone that aren’t covered in leather. It's this little story they started playing out, so long ago it's hard to remember a time devoid of it, where Sylvain asks Linhardt what new sights he wishes to witness, what new sensations and new love.

The low rumble of a hum fills in the gaps between his question and the answer Linhardt is pondering. Linhardt's hands come up to rub at the back of his scalp, tugging at the short snippets of auburn noncommittally. He’s always liked touching Sylvain. Insurance that he’s actually there. 

_ “Show me what heaven looks like.” _

_ “Oh?” _ The sound of Sylvain’s laughter tickles his skin until they’re both laughing. He pulls back, propping his chin up on the bridge of his hand so he can better watch over Linhardt. It’s his turn to play around, thumb caressing his cheek in soft strokes. _ “Shouldn’t you know already, angel?” _

_ “I seem to have conveniently forgotten, and just in time for you to refresh my memory. Think you might be up to it?” _Turning his face to the side, Linhardt starts pressing kisses into his hand, little secrets Sylvain will carry with him henceforth. Through parted lips comes eternity, foolhardy eternity that Linhardt promises him. 

Giving him a God complex is a dangerous game Linhardt’s playing at, but it makes Sylvain happy to somebody out there he is an entire world, that there is a place out there for him, too, just like for any other. And that is no lie. 

_ “Come then.” _Sylvain coaxes him back upright with fingertips pressed to his wrist as they trade places. He is on his back, a pillow holding his head upright, at an angle, but what changes is that Linhardt is left straddling his neck, thighs pressed flush against the sides of his face, cock only a breath away. 

It’s their first time in this position, and Linhardt notes, surprised, that there are truly an infinite amount of experiences to be had in the bedroom. Despite everything they have already done, all their virtue and their sin. Sylvain never ceases to amaze him. 

From above, Linhardt teases him, squeezing his legs together slightly, and he watches Sylvain breathe through his nose, eyes falling closed. His hands come up to grip at his thighs, fingers digging into that sliver of skin that remains uncovered, and that small edge of contact sends a ripple of ecstasy through Linhardt’s body. His cock twitches.

_ “Like what you’re feeling?” _Sylvain’s voice comes out hot, seeping through the thin fabric of his underwear and going straight into his erection. But before he can think of a witty reply, Sylvain frees his cock, tugging the panties down from the place where they stick to his skin with precum, and he snags them beneath his balls so they won’t roll back up. 

_ “Sylvain…” _

_ “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.” _A promise he delivers upon instantly. 

Clutching his ass with one hand, Sylvain pushes Linhardt's body forward, while his other keeps his shaft positioned at an angle that's right for insertion. One second later, he is buried all the way to the hilt in Sylvain's mouth, savouring the steamy wetness of the enclosure. A gasp rattles his insides, releasing a shudder that courses through him like a current before settling as a tremble in his knees. From underneath, the adoring gaze of Sylvain watches his chest flutter rapidly, eyelids flitting like two butterflies, and he waits patiently for Linhardt to take everything in. 

A few breaths later, he settles awake, nodding softly before beginning to move so very slowly. The sensations overwhelm him, and for a second, he panics thinking he might ejaculate right away, but then, Linhardt is reminded of Sylvain’s steady touch upon his skin, the subtlety with which he lets him lead but remains behind in case he’s needed, and it settles his stomach while elevating his heart. It’s one of those inexplicable realities that Sylvain understands his body in ways Linhardt cannot dream of ever comprehending. 

Gradually, his pace quickens into a steady flow of thrust and pull, and Sylvain’s throat constricts around him, making his cock throb harder and harder with every passing moment. Linhardt’s hands come down to brace for impact, taking root at the base of Sylvain’s scalp, amongst strands of hair that he can grapple onto. And then he’s coming in thick, sporadic spurts, all of Linhardt spilling down his throat without a single drop wasted. An accomplishment he is no doubt proud of, if the smug grin on his face is anything to go by. 

_ “How did it feel?” _

_ “Mhm, it was perfect.” _The truth doesn’t have to be said out loud, but Linhardt does it most naturally. By giving voice to it, there is no room left for doubt. Sylvain beams, giving his ass a few light pats. 

_ “Turn around.” _And how could he not, with the all-too-recent taste of climax on his tongue. Linhardt maneuvers his body with the slightest difficulty, but he doesn’t sit back down, ass hovering over Sylvain’s face uncertain.

_ “Lower?” _

_ “No, just like this.” _Sylvain’s grasp is tight on his hips when he pulls him down, stopping just short of pressing right onto his face. He leaves him there with a certain amount of trust, that Linhardt will keep himself elevated through his own means, while his hands slither along his body until they’re spreading his asscheeks apart, thumbs opening him up. 

_ “S-Sylvain.” _ Startled, he makes a move to turn, but only his head, the anticipation of what is to come keeping the rest of him firmly in place, and _ Goddess_, is it a gift that Sylvain bestows upon him. His tongue had always felt divine, in his mouth, on his cock, all over his body, but _ this _is a foreign feeling, delicious in its own right. The muscle makes its way inside with little resistance when Linhardt relaxes, dilating to the sounds of Sylvain groaning into him. His voice rumbles, echoing into the deepest recesses of Linhardt’s body, and it feels so sinfully good. Pleasure rises to his head, and with that same rhythm from before, he begins rutting against Sylvain’s face in short, choppy movements. 

Inside, Linhardt can feel the sweet caress of Sylvain’s tongue, massaging the inner walls, flicking to reach some spot or another. He moves in long, broad waves, pushing onward before retreating just enough to renew the experience. Not once does he pull out, and a thought occurs to Linhardt, a curiosity more than anything, that maybe Sylvain might not mind if he ran out of breath right then and there, with a facefull of Linhardt’s ass. It fits his character. 

Except Linhardt has always liked writing his own stories. 

In a daze, he leans over, repositioning himself so as to not sever any contact, elbows bent at an angle and digging into the mattress to keep him elevated. Hastily, he fingers at Sylvain's waistband with a certain ineptitude, though not missing the low, pleased hum that resounds behind him. After what seems to be an inevitably long amount of time, Linhardt manages to take hold of his dick, coming down upon it with an open mouth and taking however much he can fit of it in one go. There are few things (if not just one) that enthuse him to the point of desperation, but Linhardt loves the feel of Sylvain's cock inside his mouth, that most pleasurable sensation of being filled up. He runs his tongue along its underbelly, using the points of his teeth to graze the flesh lightly, a bit of texture to add some flavour, which Sylvain drinks up, hiking up the level of the competition as he relentlessly breaks Linhardt down with his tongue. 

A delicate cycle ensues. Sylvain, enamored at seeing Linhardt so eager to please, so vividly animated in the way his head bops down, spine undulating with each new high wave of pleasure passing through his body, in turn, grows harder, honing in on his orgasm with fearful accuracy. And Linhardt, so pleased to see his efforts recognized, succumbing to a rush of blood at having won such great acclaim, is riled up at feeling Sylvain bucking into his mouth. At the core of it, what gets them off is getting their lover off. 

And thusly, he’s snapped out of his thoughts in an instant, brought back by the hand that wraps around his cock, working that second orgasm out of him. Sylvain syncs all his movements to the same tune, excruciatingly slow, but with a depth that uproots Linhardt’s entire world, turning it on its head. Though what does it at the end is his own climax. Sylvain comes inside his mouth, and Linhardt drinks all of it down thankfully, stopping only to take note of his own climax. His mouth comes to hang open and loose as a string of mewls follows, pouring out of him anew, white and hot and so sweet. 

Numbly, he collapses to the side, a breathless heaving mess that Sylvain collects in his arms. They quickly settle against each other, Linhardt revelling in the warm afterglow, basking in the light that is his lover's smile. In that moment, there are many things he feels thankful for.

_ "Happy Birthday, Lin." _ All sweet intention, until Sylvain, still dribbling cum, saliva, and _ Godess-knows-what-else _ off his chin, goes in for a kiss. Linhardt paws at his cheek, pushing his face to the side just before they can collide.

_ "No." _

_ "You'll deny me? Even after I bought you this cute lingerie?" _ The slap of the bra strap against Linhardt's skin resounds the end of his question. _ "Even after I ate you out?" _

_ “Yes.” _ With a dissatisfied groan, Linhardt turns to reach for the nightstand, pulling a tissue from its box and moving to wipe at his mouth. _ “I still refuse to kiss you, though. Not until you’ve washed your face.” _

_ “But, Liiiiiin! ” _ His voice trails off in a long whine, and with it, he pulls him closer to his chest, nuzzling into his hair. _ “Mhm, I love you anyway.” _

_ “I love you too.” _A yawn stretches his words on and on. He settles in Sylvain’s embrace with a most natural ease. This is the perfect time for a nap.

By now, Sylvain knows this, too, and he runs his fingertips along the curves and dips of his torso. Like this, Linhardt falls asleep to the tune of his breath, the orchestrations of his hands upon his body, light touches that fade into a peaceful slumber. 

Heaven, sweet, sweet heaven, is at Sylvain’s side. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking at lingerie a few months back when I came across [this](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/2417/6849/products/complete-bondage-lingerie-set-white-bdsm-belt-belted-belts-ddlg-playground_286_800x.jpg?v=1534447899) beautiful set and instantly thought, "Ah, man, Linhardt would look perfect in this", so here we are. 
> 
> Happy birthday, the love of my life, Linhardt von Hevring 💕💕


End file.
